The Manzoa Journey
by Zed Acedia
Summary: Welcome to the newly discovered region of Manzoa, a tropical continent that has been isolated from the rest of the Pokemon world for centuries. This story will detail the journey of 3 kids who travel through this mysterious new land, taking on Manzoa's version of the Pokemon League. Accepting OCs, just check my profile for more information.


((I do not own Pokemon))

((Edit: Thanks for the feedback everyone! I've made a few grammar corrections and put an OC submission form in my profile. Be sure to pm me your OCs and any suggestions))

A gust of sandy wind blew by the young man, rustling his shoulder-length dirty blonde hair and forcing him to shield his emerald green eyes from the grainy particles. As it passed, the sand-filled rush of air grew stronger, whipping the young man's safari cap off his head, though he did manage to catch it before it fled off into the distance. After a moment gust dissipated, but even as it died down it was apparent that the ordeal was only just beginning. The young man replaced his cap back upon his head and frowned, the weather causing him obvious discomfort.

Michael Phillips wasn't new to sandstorms, since his work as a reporter for _Hoenn Today_ often ended him up in the most remote of deserts, but a sandstorm in the middle of the tropical jungle was definitely a new experience. And he wasn't alone in his surprise. All around him the village he was currently residing in decided to go on lock-down. The natives all retreated into their wooden huts, closing whatever doors, windows, and shades they could. The nice old lady from whom Michael was buying an assortment of exotic berries suddenly became stricken with fear. She hurriedly tossed a few berries into a basket and then shoved the basket into Michaels arms, shooing him away.

"Wait!" Michael objected, reaching into a pocket of his vest and pulling out a few gold-colored coins, "how much do I owe you?"

The old woman just shook her head and continued to wave him away. "Shelter," she told him through a thick accent. She motioned to her now sand coated surroundings. "Bad omen. Bad magic." With that she turned and hustled into her own hut, shutting the door behind her and leaving Michael to stand alone in the middle of the silent village.

Michael sighed with frustration, not at the woman's words, but at what they represented. The entire world was so advanced in both technology and culture, yet in parts of the world such as these, people lived in a virtual dark age, their customs and quality of life reminiscent of prehistoric tribe-based societies. It wasn't their fault, but rather fault of the rest of the world, for allowing these people to live in poverty and ignorance while they themselves flourished.

This was the reason Michael traveled across the world to the newly discovered Manzoa region. He was writing a big big piece on the injustices faced by isolated villages across the world, and the villages of Manzoa presented a perfect opportunity for research. The region had until very recently been off limits to any visitors, a team of professional explorers being sent in to ascertain whether or not it was safe for the general public. It was discovered that the region was dotted with several villages, many of which home to pokemon trainers. The region even had its own version of a Pokemon League, in which challengers from many different villages took on the strongest trainers of other villages in order to earn respect. Eventually diplomats were sent to welcome Manzoa into the Pokemon League, giving the strongest trainers of each village the right to distribute badges, and solidifying the region's friendly relations with the rest of the world. After that, lines of travel between Manzoa and the other regions were opened up, and the reporter in Michael immediately jumped on the opportunity to get some great stories.

And so here he was, three weeks into his trip at the village of Mato Pu'ku, living in a building-sized tent along with half a dozen other researchers and journalists. His story was coming along quite well, and the village was friendly and cooperative. Still, he couldn't wait to back home to Hoenn, where a warm bed and loving girlfriend awaited.

Another gust of wind snapped Michael out of his musings. The coarse grains of sand stung his face, and he decided to continue his thoughts once he returned to shelter. Holding his hat to his head with one hand and gripping the basket of berries in the other, he set of at a jog in the direction of his tent.

The village wasn't very large, being built in a jungle clearing less than kilometer in diameter. It had a few buildings, just wooden huts where different families made their residence, and the tent for Michael and the rest of the visitors was built on the outskirts. As Michael got closer to the tent, the sandstorm was getting progressively more violent, as if he was approaching its very heart. It became increasingly hard for him to see due to his constant need to squint and rub his eyes. His discomfort wasn't helped by the the natural heat and humidity offered by Manzoa's tropical climate.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of trudging through vicious sand and unforgiving heat, Michael found himself in front of the tent. Before he could heave a sigh of relief, however, he realized that entrance was blocked, guarded by a massive tank of a creature. It was dinosaur-like in appearance, bi-pedal with two short arms and broad body. Its flesh had the look of green stone, with black markings on its legs and chest. On its back was a multitude of spikes, and on its stomach was a diamond of grey, ribbed material that contrasted with the rest of its green hide. A Tyranitar. At over six and a half feet tall, its ruthless eyes stared down at Michael, who wasn't used to being outsized, even by pokemon. With a height of 6'2'' and a fit, bordering on muscular physique, Michael was not accustomed to being completely physically overshadowed, and to be in that situation now intimidated him greatly.

The Tyranitar stared for a moment before apparently deciding the human wasn't worth its time, turning its gaze elsewhere. The last thing Michael wanted to do was recapture its attention, but unfortunately he had no choice. This Tyranitar was obviously the source of the sudden sandstorm, and this close to it the gale of battering, sand-infused wind was not only stinging, but bordering on painful. Michael had to get inside the tent, even if that meant risking getting the gargantuan pokemon angry. He reached to his belt, unclipping one of the 4 pokeballs he had attatched to it. Inside this pokeball was his Lairon, who's Iron Head attack could hopefully put a dent in the Tyranitar's defenses.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Called out a voice from within the tent. The sudden comment caught Michael completely off guard, and he was frozen with surprise as the Tyranitar lumbered away from the entrance, revealing a cloaked figure who then stepped out of the tent. "I don't think my pokemon would appreciate you attacking him," the cloaked man continued, "Perhaps you could lower your pokeball, so we can talk like civilized men."

It was then that Michael realized his arm was still raised in the air, holding up the pokeball that just a moment ago he was preparing to throw. "Oh," he muttered, embarrassed. "Sorry." Lowering his arm and replacing the pokeball to his belt, Michael squinted through swirling sand to get a better look at the other man.

The man's cloak was black with white, almost runic, designs. It was long, covering the man's body from his shoulders down to his feet, stopping just short of the ground. A hood also covered the top of the man's head, preventing a view of whatever hair he might have. On the man's face was a set of high tech goggles that Michael recognized as a variation of the Hoenn "Go-Go Goggles." They obscured the man's face, which which left very little for Michael to get a solid description of, other than his smooth chocolate-colored skin and a friendly smile.

The investigative reporter in Michael was raising a red flag at the man's suspicious attire. In Michael's experience, only a person with something to hide would cloak himself from head to toe. Michael decided to ignore the part of his mind that was screaming to get out of the sandstorm and instead opened up with a seemingly harmless question.

"So brings you Mato Pu'ku, Mister..." Michael trailed off, fishing for a name.

"Business" the man replied, retaining his smile. "With a researcher who has made his residence here." The implied question of his name was shot down, but at least the man gave Michael a workable answer.

Michael pressed on, figuring he would get the name later. "Oh, business?" he asked, keeping his voice light, "I suppose your a researcher yourself then?"

"Of a sort." The man replied with a lighthearted laugh. "But I work mostly with management." Michael prided himself on his ability to read people, and he could tell that the man was hiding something. But he could also tell that this casual line of questioning wasn't going to get him anywhere. As he tried to think of a way to pry into the man's secret without sounding confrontational, a particularly stiff gust of wind whipped about. the cloak of the man was blown open, revealing a full black uniform underneath. For a split second, Michael could make out the bright red shape of an an "R" emblazoned on the man's shirt, but it was hurriedly concealed. Concealed too late, however, because now that Michael had the scent of a huge story, he wasn't about to let it go. It was time to pounce.

"Somehow I doubt that 'R' on your chest stands for 'researcher.'" Michael commented, allowing himself a smirk of impending victory. "And to be honest I'm a not surprised Giovanni already has assets here in Manzoa. Are you all planning on robbing the villages here of their pokemon, or are you up to something even more sinister?"

The smile didn't disappear from the man's face, which unsettled Michael quite a bit. Instead, the smile widened, shifting from that of a friendly passerby to that of a sociopathic murderer, staring into the eyes of his next victim. "I assure you, young man," the cloaked stranger replied, his voice cold as ice and without fear, "Team Rocket's plans have become decidedly more... Ambitious."

The man's demeanor shook Michael's confidence, and his words confused him. Why would he suddenly reveal he was? Why wasn't he scared or at least upset that Michael had figured him out? Why did he seem so damn content? Michael was so absorbed with these questions and more, that he never even noticed the Tyranitar's tail swinging straight for the back of his head. It would be few hours before anyone found the basket of berries spilled out on the sand-covered ground. A few of the berries had bursted upon impact with the dirt, but no one mistook the accompanying pool of red liquid for berry juice.


End file.
